


A Necromancer, a Fire Goddess and the boy who talked to snakes

by GreatDestruction



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Animagus, Animagus Harry Potter, Animal Death, Animal Sacrifice, Animal Traits, Animal Transformation, Author is Grey, BAMF Draco Malfoy, BAMF Harry Potter, BAMF Hermione Granger, Blaise Zabini is a Good Friend, Blood Drinking, Blood Magic, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Child Abuse, Dark Draco Malfoy, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Depression, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fire Magic, Forced Orgasm, Friends to Lovers, Grey Blaise Zabini, Grey Harry Potter, Grey Hermione Granger, Grey Luna Lovegood, Human Sacrifice, Love Confessions, Lust Potion/Spell, Magical Bond, Mild Gore, Multi, Necromancer Draco Malfoy, Necromancy, Overprotective Harry Potter, Parselmouth Harry Potter, Parseltongue Kink, Politics, Possessive Harry Potter, Possible Character Death, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Protective Blaise Zabini, Protective Draco Malfoy, Protective Hermione Granger, Rape/Non-con Elements, Ravenclaw Hermione Granger, Seer Luna Lovegood, Slytherin Harry Potter, Smart Draco Malfoy, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Underage Kissing, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:07:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26269963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreatDestruction/pseuds/GreatDestruction
Summary: Trained to take over the Malfoy name and to serve the Dark Lord, Draco enters Hogwarts as a spy for the dark. Skilled duellist and knowledgeable in all subjects, he’s hailed as a prodigy and observed by Voldemort looking for an heir.Harry first speaks to a garden snake when he’s six. He enters Hogwarts with the unique ability to speak to magical and non-magical creatures, possessing unusually sharp senses and a wish to find a place to call home.Hermione causes a fire when she’s five with accidental magic, killing both of her parents. She grows up to be smart and powerful but fearful of her magical abilities. She enters Hogwarts to seek the truth of why her magic caused such a tragedy and to learn how to control the power within her.Luna first saw the future when she was four. She enters Hogwarts to control her gift and to find the people in her visions -people who will forge a new path in the war between light and dark.A chance encounter, a tradition, a lapse in judgement and too great a power -a brave new world for those willing to take a step and a hellish begining of the end for those who hesitate.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson & Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy/Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger & Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger & Neville Longbottom & Luna Lovegood & Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson & Harry Potter, Sirius Black & Harry Potter, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50





	A Necromancer, a Fire Goddess and the boy who talked to snakes

**Author's Note:**

> A HP story with a what-if look that I've been dying to write. My MK/DC story is still ongoing and will be updated eventually when I get around to it.  
> This story is a largely based on the assumption that a lot of things went differently even before the begining of the books: Draco was raised as a pureblood prodigy, who knows how to form alliences and how to manipulate people. Harry was raised in an abusive household and found comfort in animals that talked to him about the wizarding world. Hermione used accidental magic and landed herself in the system and became unable to control her magic because of her fear toward it. Luna sees that they all have to meet and decides to make it happen etc.  
> So Hermione, Harry, Luna, Blaise, Neville, the twins and Ginny are in the grey area, while Draco, Pansy and the rest of the slytherins are in the darker end of the spectrum. This work will feature all the things mentioned in the tags and if anyone gets triggered by them, I would reccommend that you do not read this fic. Some of the more sexual things nad the darker themes come in play later in the story but they will make an appearance and since it is a work in progress, there is a chance that more tags could be added later on.
> 
> English is not my first language, excuse my grammar.  
> Updates may be irregular.  
> I try to check all the spelling from HP sites, but some mistakes may be there.  
> I have not and will not watch or read anything other than the main books and movies. I take liberty in deciding which parts I incorporate into the story and which I leave out -no hate, thank you.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Draco stood, quiet and respectful as his father told him of his mission. The blond boy was clad in battle robes and his wand was on his thigh holster. His hair was slicked back, prim and proper despite the three hours that he had spent trying not to die as several Death Eaters showered him with curses and hexes.

“You must attend Hogwarts. I’m aware that there was the initial plan to send you to Durmstrang, but the current situation calls for you to stay here. You will find the stone and eliminate, if possible, Harry Potter. If, however, the boy can be convinced to turn to the dark or to neutral we can leave him alone. These are your primary tasks, get the stone to the Dark lord and find a way to neutralize the threat of that boy, by any means necessary. Additionally, if you encounter any information that could be beneficial to the dark, I want to receive it.” The older Malfoy stopped, turning his sharp eyes toward Draco with cold fire burning within their depths. “Do you understand, Draco?”

“Yes Father.” Draco said, voice strong and level as he bowed his head in acceptance.

“Good, you’re dismissed. Your potions lesson will begin in a few minutes.” Lucius said and took a seat at his desk, opening a scroll that he had been working on before he had summoned Draco.

“I’ll see you at dinner, father.”

Draco inclined his head, turned around and left the room silently, carefully closing the door behind himself with a quiet sigh. He turned to the right, descending the stairs at the end of the hallway and then made his way to the potions labs. His teacher, a blond woman with honey coloured eyes and a sharp smile motioned for him to sit down on the only available chair, in front of a large metal table that held a wide selection of herbs and liquids.

“I know you’ve progressed to the point where your knowledge with the potions surpasses most of curriculum offered at Hogwarts, but there are still several that you must master if you want to be on the same level as any fifth year student in Durmstrang.” She gestured to the table with a smirk and her lips, appropriately painted crimson on that day.

“We have four more months before school begins. In that time, you’ll be able to reach the level of seventh years in Durmstrang and be recognised in this country as an advanced potions maker. In another two years you should reach master, but for now we must get through the three dozen potions that I’ve listed.” The woman gestured to the piece of parchment that rested next to several heavy and old books.

“Several require a very long time to brew and sometimes require very specific ingredients or timing in their making. I hope you can manage them along with your other studies.” Draco raised an eyebrow in silent question and the woman gave a slight chuckle.

“You’re advancing to seventh year in charms and transfiguration, spell creation, blood magic and rituals as well as defence against the dark arts and its counterpart; the advanced and intermediary dark and neutral arts. Imagine that you’re quiet busy with so many lessons and all the homework.”

Draco didn’t bother answering, just picked up the parchment and started reading it. Most were what the Ministry would classify as dark potions –made to manipulate the mind, strong poisons and potions used in dark magic, some requiring large amounts of blood. Draco frowned as he opened the first book, determined to get a good timetable for how to make all the potions in time. There was one he was particularly concerned about, the Calling of Dead. It was a potion that was used during the night of Samhain, when conducting a blood ritual to summon dead back for a few hours –it was necromancy. The ritual didn’t allow the dead to stay for long, but it made them basically indestructible and very deadly. The magic was impossible to trace so if a witch or a wizard wanted someone dead in an untraceable and horrifying way, this was the spell for it. It required a lot of patience but also several ingredients that he was not keen on trying to get –least of which was the fresh fang of a dragon. So he shot his tutor a deathly glare which she returned with a smirk.

“I’m not going to do all the work for you, though I’ll arrange a trip to places where you can get the ingredients.”

Draco just heaved a heavy sigh and returned to his reading. There was little to nothing to be gained from confronting his teacher, who seemed to take immense pleasure from his displeasure and pain. So he read on, grabbing another piece of parchment and the offered quill to make a plan, trying to fit the potions into his daily schedule with varying success. He would have to compromise on some lessons –moving them to a later or an earlier time, and the success of that endeavour would depend on the teacher of each subject.

Three hours later, Draco walked up the stairs to hallways that led him to one of the drawing rooms in the same wing. The elderly man with empty eye sockets and greyish skin started his lecture before Draco had managed to sit down on the desk in the room. History of the Wizarding World was all inclusive, though it did have a tang of Dark propaganda thrown in. Draco skirted around those parts and made a note to read through several books on the matter to get a better understanding of it –regardless of how biased his teacher was, he always appreciated it when Draco actually researched the subjects that he talked about in an objective way. Not that Draco was really interested in the Lights tries to subtly influence the Wizergamont by doing several, not very subtle favours for its members. It had been to get an auror off some charges, or to at least lighten the punishment.

Draco exited the room two hours later with a deadly bored expression and a weariness in his steps. The old man was a bloody psychopath, switching between extreme seriousness to murderous intent and then to calm and nostalgic. Draco hated the guy but was stuck with him until another person learned as much of the history as the crazy old man. The blond made his way upstairs to change his clothes for dinner that they were having with the Blaise and his mother. It was quite normal for other pureblood families to come over from time to time, though most of the them were associated with the Dark or at least sympathetic to the cause or the Dark Lord. Draco knew from experience that Blaise regarded himself as Grey, not wanting anything to do with the dark or the light more than necessary. Draco hoped that him turning fully to embrace the Dark arts would not scare his fiend away, but he was prepared for it.

Changing from the form hugging duel clothing to more flowy and elegant robes was a relief. It was a physical sign for his body that the day of fighting and learning was over for now and he was allowed to relax even just a little bit before his evening lessons in spell creation and ritual magic. Choosing dark blue and black robes with silver accents, Draco pulled on the garments, and slipped several rings onto his fingers –one of which was the seal of the house of Malfoy and the other was the seal of the Blacks from his mother. He slipped his wand into the wrist holster before strapping it in place and pulling the sleeve down to hide it.

He hurried downstairs without taking a making a sound, knowing full well that he was a few minutes late because of the crazy history teacher had refused to let him go on time. Draco commanded the shadows to guide his steps, making them soundless and allowing him to move faster as he raced down a corridor before silently descending the stairs into the lobby where Blaise and his mother had just stepped inside. Lucius cast a disapproving look over his shoulder at Draco who hurried to his parents’ side while Narcissa gave a slight smile and touched his shoulder slightly.

Blaise gave his coat to the house elf waiting to take it and then came to Draco with a small but friendly smile resting on his lips as he extended a hand to Draco. Draco grasped the other boys elbow and gave a squeeze in greeting before even opening his mouth.

“Good to see you Blaise.”

“You as well, I hope you’ve been in good health?” Blaise asked, polite as they had been taught to be in etiquette classes.

“Yes, thank you. I hope that the same applies to you and your mother as well?” Draco said and quickly caught the approving look that Lucius was now giving him. Draco was a pureblood, polite and always forging new connections and making old bonds stronger with each meeting.

“Yes, we’ve been well, thank you for your concern. We hope for a pleasant evening.” Mrs Zabini replied, coming to stand just a step behind her son with a similar approving look that Lucius wore.

“No need to hope my lady, I can assure you that all comforts shall be provided to you. Please, let us make for the dining room, dinner should be prepared.” Lucius said, gesturing to the dining room doors that were open before turning to walk to the dining room, guiding their guest as any lord of the manor would.

“I don’t think I’ve said this enough but your house is truly wonderful! So much history and culture!” Mrs Zabini said, a delighted smile on her face that Draco knew to be genuine. There was quite a bit of history and culture in all the things that decorated the Malfoy manor and most purebloods found it quite wonderful –their legacy and history on display, proudly, was a dream come true. It showed the power and wealth, but it also allowed them to establish their lineage and merits, hopefully making them superior to lesser houses who lacked the same history. As dark and twisted as that history could be at time, Draco found that he loved learning about it to a certain degree, understanding where he came and what had happened allowed him to think of the future of his house that was undoubtedly going to rest on his shoulders.

The conversation continued on, polite and light, never breaching too deeply into anything personal. Things like the death of the latest Mr Zabini or traces of dark magic on Draco were not things to be discussed during a friendly dinner. All knew them, but none said anything because those conversations were meant to be held behind closed doors and silencing wards between close allies.

Eventually the dinner came to a close and Draco and Blaise were granted a bit of time alone by their parents –a show of mutual trust and parents seeing the benefit of their children interacting and building a strong bond that would carry them through tough times. The left the dining room and walked to Draco’s room where they sat down on the plush couches in front of the fireplace that was roaring in preparation for the cold spring night. Blaise sat down opposite of Draco and the blond Malfoy laid down on the other couch with a tired yawn. He was exhausted and Blaise could see that as well.

“Are you alright?” Blaise asked, dropping the formal tone, polite but distant, in favour of something much warmer. Draco closed his eyes, dropping a hand over them to block the light coming from the fireplace.

“I’m just tired. I still have lessons after you and your mom leave too.” Draco muttered, dropping his pureblood speech patterns and just chatting with someone he considered a friend.

“They’re demanding way too much from you, you know that right?” Blaise said and Draco gave a dismissive wave of his hand.

“They just need me to keep the family honour intact. Demanding this much from the only male heir seems pretty normal if you-“

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Blaise said, voice offended on Draco’s behalf. “Your parents want you to be on par with, what, Hogwarts fifth years? Why the hell do you even need to go to school if you can do the first four years with your eyes closed?” Blaise asked with a scoff and Draco a slight smirk.

“I’m on seventh year as of last week, fifth year on Durmstrang-“

“What the bloody hell Draco?!” Blaise shouted, knowing that the wards around Draco’s room would prevent anyone from hearing their conversation even if they were screaming. Draco just raised his arm and shot Blaise an unimpressed look. The dark skinned wizard shook his head and stood from the couch, moving to kneel besides the couch Draco was laying on. Blaise rested a hand on the pale one laying on the couch.

“You realise that you’re being groomed for the resurrection of the dark lord, you’ll be his loyal warrior-“

“I’m being groomed to help resurrect the dark lord.” Draco interrupted and Blaise flinched, squeezing the fair hand tighter.

“Why-“

“Because I’m capable of it, my powers and magic unique and powerful.” Draco paused. “Because they know that I’ll never be accepted by the light –not because of my family legacy, but because of my inability to master the simplest light magic.” The blond said and met Blaise’s surprised eyes.

“Your magic is bound to the dark?” Blaise asked and Draco nodded, closing his eyes once more.

“I… when was it-“

“When I turned six, before that I just practised the neutral spells. I had difficulty learning them, and father tried teaching me light magic that ended with me vomiting all over the floor. You can imagine that he was delighted by that discovery; my compatibility with dark magic was so high that even the slightest of light spells made me sick to my stomach. You know how rare that is in the current era? Very rare, even the dark lord had the ability to cast some lesser light spells.” Draco stopped rubbing a tired hand over his eyes.

“My father and mother are both dark, mother surprisingly more so than father, whose affinity is just on the side of dark of being considered neutral. Considering how crazy and dark some of my relatives have been and are I’m guessing that the strength of the affinity just happened to skip a generation.” Draco said and then lowered his hand to look at Blaise once more.

“Have you considered when you’ll do the ritual?” Draco asked and Blaise lowered his gaze.

“My mother has been kind of hinting at it since I turned ten, but I’ve been putting it off.” Blaise admitted quietly, pulling his hand back.

“You should just do it –it doesn’t even require a specific time, unlike a lot of other rituals.” 

“I don’t know if I want to.” The dark haired boy admitted and Draco turned on his side to get a better look at him.

“Why?”

“It’s just that… My mother is dark, I don’t know about father, I know that even if he was the light wizard the dark usually shines stronger. I already know the answer and you know that I want to neutral, maybe sympathetic to the dark but nothing more.” Blaise didn’t meet Draco’s eyes.

“If you happen to be magic bound to the dark then you can still be neutral, the affinity to the dark arts is just one end of the spectrum, both have access to neutral magic.”

“But my mother will not see it that way!” Blaise shouted, eyes narrowed. Draco propped himself up on his elbow, the other hand not being used to support him reaching out to touch the other boys shoulder

“I know but you’ve been playing this game long enough to know that you can play her.” Draco murmured, hand grasping the others robes.

“I know.” Blaise said, voice quiet, head bowed. Draco sighed, moving to hug the other boy, disregarding his own discomfort of the position. Blaise leaned into the embrace, hands moving to embrace the other back.

“You’re not alone.” Draco whispered, knowing that was true. Blaise would be able to assimilate into any group, he would be able build connections and find a form that would suit his needs. He would be an ardent light supporter, an indifferent neutral magic user or the most crazed dark wizard if the situation called for it. Draco couldn’t do it –his personality, his teachings made some things an impossibility to him. At best he could strife for a strained neutrality that would be as insincere as his smile to his duelling tutors when he complimented their skills. Blaise would build a live with new people around him, people who the dark haired wizard could disappear into, vanishing from the watchful eye of the light and the dark side. The Malfoy heir didn’t have the same luxury, even when his magic allowed him to slip into any place on Earth, trough the most powerful blood wards and highly guarded prisons. Draco couldn’t leave his name behind, couldn’t leave his nature, his magic behind. It would be like denying that he had been born a wizard at all, an insult to all those who had come before him.

Draco closed his eyes, hoping that whatever Blaise chose to do, he would be able to accomplish it. The blond boy slowly moved away from the embrace, sitting up on the couch. He reached for Blaise’s hands which the other extended to him like an offering. Draco took them and gave a slight smile to the other boy.

“You’ll never be alone.” Draco repeated, knowing that the other just needed to hear it once more. It was a promise but also a vote of confidence –if Blaise chose the risk of neutrality as he had been saying for the past two years or the unlikely path of opposing the dark, Draco was confident that the boy would be welcomed with open arms. If Blaise chose to stay with the dark, Draco was promising to always be there for his friend.

“I know.” Blaise answered, dark eyes flashing with something that Draco rarely saw in someone who usually was as fluid and ever changing as water –conviction.

DLM - - - BZ - - - DLM - - - BZ - - - DLM - - - BZ - - - DLM - - - BZ - - - DLM - - - BZ - - - DLM - - - BZ - - - DLM

Draco collapsed onto his bed at the end of the night, the clock striking eleven in the study next door. The blond moved to remove his robe but found the task almost impossible with how heavy his body was. He closed his eyes, hissing in frustration and forcing himself up from the soft mattress. He dropped the dirty robes to the floor and walked to the ensuite bathroom. The bath was filled with hot water curtesy of the house elves. He slipped into the water, trying and failing not to let his eyes close in pure bliss.

He was being run ragged, three months before the beginning of the school year and Draco was dead tired. His left side was bruised from a lucky shot during that day duel. Draco had been exhausted after spending the previous night preparing the bloody Calling of Dead. He had gotten distracted towards the end of the duel and suffered not only the initial hit that was responsible for his bruised side but also fifteen minutes of the Cruciatus curse on top of it for failing to dodge or deflect the spell.

Draco stood from the water, switching the shower while pulling the plug to let the water drain. Turning the water on to cold he quickly got washed, hands lingering on his injured side as got out and dried off. Grabbing a pair of silk pyjamas he made his way back to his bedroom and to the slowly glittering fireplace that would not go dark until dawn. The blond snatched a book form his nightstand and made his way to the soft rug directly in front of the fire. He laid the book down and sat cross legged before it. Draco muttered a soft curse and then closed his eyes as the book instructed and emptied his mind.

Occlumency had been hard at first, his mind refusing to quiet in the way that the books and teachers had described. It had taken him almost three years to become proficient enough that he could resist his godfather’s occasional probes. Legilimency had come easier to Draco, he could easily slip into people’s minds without their knowledge. He became able to bypass some of the Occlumency shields that were designed to stop him. Draco was quite proud of the fact that his mother had been forced to admit that Draco had surpassed even her when it came to both the defensive as well as the offensive mind magic.

He meditated, building his mental walls and increasing his magical core slowly but surely. There was a limit to how much magic a person could have, but slowly amassing magic and then releasing allowed the core to grow slightly over time. It was maybe enough for two or three intermediary spells, or one big one, both of which could be the difference between losing or winning a duel or a battle. Draco stayed there, basking in the warm fire light for almost two hours before standing up and walking to his bed, his Occlumency book grasped in one hand as he fell face down on the soft, fluffy pillows.

That was how his mother found him the next morning when she came to bring Blaise’s letter that had arrived in the morning mail. Narcissa smiled before gently waking her son from his deep slumber. Lucius came by the room a few minutes later, preparing to leave for the ministry before stopping and watching as Draco sleepily greeted his mother, clutching the book to his chest. Lucius smiled a real smile before slipping past the open door undetected.

Draco had inherited the true Malfoy gift, slipping into the shadows, allowing them to conceal his presence and intent. Lucius had mastered just the basic steps of it, allowing him to move silently and letting him to hide his presence from those he didn’t necessarily wish to see or speak with. Draco had far greater control, allowing the child to be completely silent as he moved, to sense danger trough the shadows and to slip into and out of them, travelling silently form location to location like a ghost. Lucius was proud that the Malfoy blood was alive and well in his son, the person who would inherit not only Lucius’s signet ring but the one his wife also had been entrusted with. Draco was meant to be the lord of the Malfoy house, but also the last lord of the Black family, something that Dumbledore had ignored in his plans.

Lucius gave a smirk as he grabbed a handful of floo powder in his black leather glad hand. Draco was going to be the one of the greatest wizards of his generation, of that, Lucius was absolutely certain.

DML - - - HJP - - - DML - - - HJP - - - DML - - - HJP - - - DML - - - HJP - - - DML - - - HJP - - - DML - - - HJP

Harry Potter was a strange child. That was how people who ever met the child living under the stairs thought of him. He was quiet and polite, though they could see the rebellious attitude brimming under the guise of being a good child that liked helping his auntie. Harry Potter was small, his hair was as dark as the night sky and his eyes were a mesmerising emerald colour that drew people in –the neighbour’s girl had stared into his eyes the whole time when the Durleys had been talking with the new neighbours. Harry wasn’t very friendly nor very intelligent, after all he wasn’t friends with Dudley, the nicest chubby child in the neighbourhood nor did he even go to school –too stupid to manage the basic curriculum according to his guardians. At least that’s what the neighbours thought of him.

Harry was actually quite smart, thank you very much. He was quiet because saying anything always ended with a screaming Petunia or an angry Vernon reaching for his belt. So he kept his mouth shut and eyes down, most of the time. When he was alone he liked to talk to his friends: the snakes in the garden and the occasional ravens and crows that came around. Harry had found out that he was a wizard from the animals. They told him tale of the wizarding world –the game that was played on brooms, the magic that allowed people to go anywhere, the magical creatures that awaited him on the other side of the veil. Harry was excited for the day that his letter would finally arrive, so that his life would have something else than sneaking Dudleys old school books to read.

When he was six, at the very beginning when Harry started speaking to the snakes, he was found by Vernon. It had been unpleasant for all parties involved: Harry had been beaten black and blue, Vernon had been bitten and scratched by the snakes and birds in the area who had come to Harry’s defence, while at least one snake had died and two birds had hobbled away with a broken wing. Harry was always careful about when he allowed himself to speak to the animals, well aware of what could happen if he was caught again. So he was careful, just like he was careful to hide his eyes when he got angry or upset.

He had been eight when he had been yelled at by Petunia for screwing up the chicken that was to be served at dinner. Harry had wanted to scream that Dudley was the one who had been eager to put more honey into the sauce and did just that when Harry had left the pan to set the table for the three people. He was slapped, the woman’s bony hand leaving an angry red mark and her ring digging in the skin leaving a bloody welt on his cheek. He had been told to go to his cupboard and to stay silent –if he was lucky enough to be able to obey he could maybe eat something for breakfast. Harry had obeyed, though he had been fuming, ready to set the house on fire. When he had gotten to the cupboard, the door was slammed closed behind, locks clicking into place as the fat man shut the door with his meaty fingers. Harry had glared before his eyes had caught the small mirror. His eyes had shone brilliant emerald but the pupils had been slitted like those of a snake.

Harry had been careful to control where he was looking when he got angry. His eyes were the most notable, but eventually there were the sharp incisors, lengthening claw like fingernails and sharper ears that were luckily hidden beneath his long hair. The snakes and birds were with him the whole time. He had always wondered why he couldn’t talk with the bunnies that sometimes wondered into the yard and the snakes explained that Harry was a predatory creature –the prey animals avoided him on instinct. Domesticated animals didn’t know how to speak to him, their ability muddled by their selective breeding and removal from contact with magical beings.

When Vernon burned the first letter Harry had understood almost instantly that he wouldn’t get his letter without a fight, but luckily one of the ravens brought one to him the following day when the rest of the family wasn’t looking. Harry set down the laundry basket and opened the letter, eyes shining with excitement. He hid the letter and then proceeded to wait for his escort.

HJP - - - HG - - - HJP - - - HG - - - HJP - - - HG - - - HJP - - - HG - - - HJP - - - HG - - - HJP - - - HG - - - HJP - - - HG

Hermione was three when her parents realised that something was very different about her. It was a stressful time in the house, her father had been laid off and her mother was worried about the mortgage and their ability pay for it. Hermione had been much too young to understand anything about the matter, her only understanding extending to the fact her parents sometimes argued and sometimes screamed at each other.

It was a winter night when it happened. Several candles had been left on the dining table, high enough that the small child would not get near them, though her parents had to acknowledge that she wouldn’t –the girl was much too smart for her age. Hermione was in the living room and her parents were in the kitchen quietly arguing about the situation. The conversation escalated and the shouting started. Hermione looked up with a fearful expression as her father slapped his hand on the countertop, frustration evident in his movements. Hermione mother shouted something and made an angry movement with her arm, almost hitting her husband.

Hermione begun to cry, too quietly for her parents to hear. The screaming continued, her parents not sparing a glance toward her as they screamed at each other, words and movements becoming more and more sharp with each round. Hermione wanted it to stop, but didn’t know how to make it stop. She didn’t understand why her parents were angry or why her tears were going unnoticed by her family. She stared at her parents wishing them to stop screaming but they didn’t. Hermione sobbed and the small and delicate flames of the candles grew.

First, her parents didn’t notice, doubling the size of candle flame wasn’t something that drew your attention from and argument with the person you loved. Neither noticed, until the flame was bigger than the candle, flames starting to burn the lamp hanged above the table. Her mother screamed, her father stumbled back a step before rushing for the jug of water sitting on the kitchen counter. He threw it on the flames and the candles extinguished with a hiss. The only sound after that was the steady dripping of the water as it fell down from the table, onto the hardwood floor and the sound of Hermione crying.

When Hermione was five, her parents tucked her into bed for the night. Things had become much better since her early years: her father had found a new, well-paying job in the next town over, so they had gotten to stay in their old neighbourhood, the mortgage on the house was almost paid back in full, and her mother and father were teaching their brilliant daughter using third and fourth grade books. They were happy, immensely so. The candle incident had been buried in memory, forgotten by Hermione, and banished to the void of nothingness by her parents. They kissed her forehead, told her goodnight and left for their bedroom across the hall.

That night, Hermione saw a terrifying nightmare. She and strangers she didn’t recognise but knew to be her friends were chased in a labyrinth of thorny hedges. The hedges moved, their long arms grabbing at them, injuring her and her companions. The feeling of being chased burned in her body. The scene changed and they were now in a dark house, a feeling of utter terror gripping at her heart as she desperately scanned the shadows to find the threat. She wished for a light and then fire consumed her vision before clearing to reveal a new scene. Then they were standing in a circle, one trying to tell her to calm down as the flames around their head reached high. Hermione refused to listen, even as the boy with desperate grey eyes came better into focus, his hands resting on hers, his voice urgent but unwaveringly strong –a command. She didn’t know if her dream version ever heeded that warning, because five year old Hermione didn’t and awoke to a flaming house. She screamed.

She woke in the hospital the next day, eyes heavy and her head fuzzy. Hermione was told that her house had caught fire for unknown reasons. Her parents had been burned alive, but she had miraculously survived. She was placed in the system a few weeks before turning six, still unsalable mentally but she refused to show it, or the fact how much flames scared her.

Hermione was ten, her control over the flames never improved, unsurprisingly. She was sent from foster home to foster home. They always told how adorable she looked with her bushy hair and dark intelligent eyes. But Hermione wasn’t liked enough to be adopted, her smarts were appreciated and her independence was a blessing but her absolute fear of fire made her life surprisingly difficult.

She had found out soon after being released from the hospital that her emotions would manipulate fire. Bursts of anger would make candles flicker, crying or screaming would make them soar. She tried to supress them, as much as a child could. The supressing of her reactions did nothing to change what she felt inside and that seemed to be the trigger for the fire. When one of her foster parents tried to slap her, the can of hairspray burst into flames before exploding. The police had deemed the woman unstable when they came to the house and found her raving about a demonic child. Hermione didn’t know whatever to cry or to smile that night.

When her guide to the world of magic came to get her, Hermione was more than ready. She had to learn to control herself and apparently the magic that was making things catch fire around her. She smiled as she was led to the Diagon ally and she grinned as she was given a chance to purchase some extra books on the schools money. She was also gifted some basic tomes about the Wizarding community and magic that she eagerly read that same night. The following day another couple came to the orphanage. Hermione did something that her caretakers or other orphans had never seen before –she smiled.

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Luna Lovegood seemed to have her head in the clouds, a daydreamer or as some guessed, as crazy as some others in her family. Luna didn’t mind, and even if she did mind, it wasn’t because people talked badly about her, but she did a bit upset when someone insulted her family. The blond haired girl never said it, always knowing that nothing good would come from opening her mouth about the subject. So she kept her silence and continued to do what she had been born for.

Luna had seen visions since her fourth birthday. At first she hadn’t really understood what she was seeing but when she had explained to her father, he had looked ecstatic, before his expression had turned worried and scared. Her father taught her to keep her gift to herself, not to mention it anyone. Luna followed that rule as closely as she could while also allowing her sight to guide her and those around her. Even when fire consumed her dreams she kept her composure.

Luna first saw a vision of Harry when she was eight. He was chatting with his snakes when a crow settled on his shoulder and the he laughed in delight as it begun to preen his black hair. Luna smiled, sitting at the dinner table while her father had inquired what was so wonderful and nice. Luna didn’t try to explain like she had tried when Draco had been lifted of the ritual circle by the dark magic –her father had been unhappy that she had mentioned a Malfoy.

Luna was up two minutes before she received her Hogwarts letter, window open, already smiling widely as she prepared a mouse for the owl as a thanks. When it finally arrived Luna ran her fingers across the parchment with reference. It was the first time that she had seen something in her visions, something that wasn’t a constant in her life, and had been able to touch it. She grinned, pounding down stairs to deliver the happy news.


End file.
